


Starman

by SpideyBoy24



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Gay, Gay Male Character, Inspired by The Walking Dead, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, POV First Person, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, The Hilltop (Walking Dead), Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 15:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideyBoy24/pseuds/SpideyBoy24
Summary: Theodore Avery was alone. He'd been that way for months yet, due to forces he could not control, he was compelled to stay in his childhood home; a simple piece of normality amongst a world on fire. Theo thought he'd be alone forever until one night he comes home to find a man knocked out on his couch.[BoyxBoy] [Male OC x Carl Grimes] [Season 4 - Season 8] [Incomplete]





	1. Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter is in the third person, all other chapters (unless noted otherwise) will be in the first person from Theo's perspective.

Nope. Nope. No. Nope. Nothing. 

Bingo!

A wide grin crosses Theodore's lips as he reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a tin of fruit. Peaches, apricots and pears. He'd really hit the jackpot. The grin still lingering, the boy searched the room greedily for something with which to open the tin, opening every drawer and checking every shelf until, at last, he found the tin opener.

Within mere moments, he had unscrewed the metal top and was pouring the fruit into his mouth, gulping it down easily. The juice ran down his mouth and onto his clothing, however, Theodore paid no mind to it but simply wiped his lips with the sleeve of his ragged, bloodstained sweater and let the tin fall to the floor.

Highly satisfied, the boy kicked the can away and whistled a tune to himself as he left the house. It wasn't his house, it had been his neighbour's, but now it belonged to no-one. Theodore supposed it belonged to the world now - to be used as required and discarded in such a manner as well.

Shrugging his shoulders and making his way down the street, Theodore ignored the white noise of the growling of the biters and the clanging of the fences as he knew they were trapped and would never be able to reach him, although, it was night time and the biters seemed to be attracted to the sound of one another at night, more may make their way into the neighbourhood. 

Bearing these thoughts in mind, the boy increased the speed of his stepping and made his way up to the porch of the house which had been his all his life. His parents had moved into this house when they had just gotten married at age twenty and had raised Theodore in it, the boy knew no other place but for that within its white picket barrier.

Theodore placed his hand on the door handle, pulled it down and pushed forward. He walked right into the door.

"What the shit?" The boy groaned as he rubbed his bruising nose.

He tried again but quickly found out that the front door of his house had been cable-tie-locked from the inside. That meant someone was inside his home.

Pulling a knife out from the sheath at his flank, Theodore held it securely in his clenched fist and circled to the back of the house where he moved a panel and crawled into the home. It was a secret passage he had made around a year ago to hide in when the biters went by.

Theodore edged his way through the kitchen then peered down the hallway to the front door where the intruders were staying. He was ready to plunge his knife into some old man's neck, however, the sight before him made him slip his knife back into its holder.

A man was sleeping on Theodore's couch, which was pushed up against the front door. His shirt was missing sleeves, revealing his bloody and torn up arms. His eyes were welled up and purple closed, and his beard was unkept.

On the opposite side of the room laid a boy. He was probably the same age as Theodore, or so the latter guessed, with a hat laying askew on his head and tangled brown locks framing his small, pale face.

Instead of sliding his knife into the intruder's neck, as he had previously planned, Theodore instead smiled at the two sleeping figures softly and whispered, "Good night", before heading up to his bedroom.

\-----***-----

"Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

Theodore obeyed the voice and snapped upright, his hand slipping to pull out his knife, however, he found he was alone in his room and that the voice was coming from downstairs. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the boy stood up and made his way down the stairs, his hand dancing along the lightly shattered bannister.

"No need to yell, sweetie, I'm awake." Theodore chirped, a grin crossing his face.

The gun of the boy who had yelled immediately turned to Theodore and he found himself surprised by the intense blue of the boy's eyes. "Who are you?" The boy asked, his voice cracking.

"I'm Theo," He replied, placing his knife on a step and moving down the stairs with his hands up. "This is my house." 

To this, the boy holding the gun seemed surprised. "I thought that this place was abandoned." He kept his gun trained on Theodore. "Are you part of a group?" 

Theodore shook his head, "All on my lonesome," He replied with a slight shrug before taking a seat on the second-from-bottom step. "Got a name?" 

Sensing that Theodore had no immediate plans of attack, the boy lowered his gun. "Carl... Carl Grimes."

"Nice to meet you, Carl Grimes." A slight grin crossed Theodore's face and he held out his hand. He didn't expect it to get shaken and was therefore unsurprised when the boy made no attempt to do so. "Is that your old man?" He nodded at the man who was knocked out on his couch. "He looks in a bad way." 

In response, Carl nodded. Theodore assumed the nod was in reply to both observations.

"I've got some painkillers and a supply of bottled water in a house nearby. We could go get them?" He suggested, tilting his head and running a hand through his own hair which played between his fingers like a rusty barbed wire.

Carl seemed like he wanted to accept his offer and his eyes told Theodore that he did, however, his lips asked something else, "Why are you helping me?"

This took the latter boy aback. He considered the question for a moment and it took him a little while to settle on a reply which was truthful. "You're the first people - living people - I've seen in, Jesus, months and months. People help people." He shrugged and put his fingers on the handle of his knife. "I'm gonna sheath it, okay?" Carl nodded while his gun remained in his hand. Theodore sheathed his knife. "I've not stabbed you in your sleep and you haven't shot me on this step, so I'm gonna guess we can trust each other?"

The boy in the cowboy hat slipped his gun into the holster at his waist. "Yeah, okay."

A violent crashing sound resonated through the house and both boys immediately drew their weapons once again as the door shuddered from impact. Biters' fingers were reaching inside. The boys turned their heads and nodded at each other in mutual understanding.

"Follow me," Theodore sang, leaping up and out of the house through the back.


	2. Time Passing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theo's POV from this point on

To say meeting Carl and his dad, whose name, I learned, was Rick, was strange would be a catastrophic understatement. However, it appeared that Carl Grimes was just a shitstorm of strange which would both utterly baffle and simultaneously impress me. One such occasion occurred just a few moments after stepping out of my front door in which he rounded on the walkers and began to yell at them, rather than shoot them down or stab them, as I'd expected.

"Hey, you!" Carl had begun to yell at them. "Fresh meat, right here, come get it." He gestured to himself and taunted the walkers forward. Were I not utterly confused, I might have grinned.

The biters turned their yellowing marble eyes upon the boy in the sheriff hat and ambled towards him, their arms outstretched. When I made a step towards them with the clear intent on plunging my knife into their heads to end their... un-lives... Carl put a hand up with his fingers spread. Curious, I watched him backstep down the street, away from the house - away from his father - and lure them past many houses and many gardens and many forgotten lives.

Tilting my head, I finally ask the obvious question. "What the actual hell are you doing?" I hope that my voice doesn't sound scratchy or violent as it had been in the past months.

"Good, carry on," It takes me a moment to realise Carl had said this to the biters. "Passing time," This was in response to me.

I tilt my head again, I do this when I'm confused. And, hell, was I confused. "You take biters for walks... to pass time?" I question, although the answer seems clear. "You're a loon." I'm not sure yet if I meant this as a compliment or not.

For a moment, I swear that I see a grin pass along Carl's cracked lips; I could be mistaken. I watch the boy lead the walkers around a corner which leads to another estate, one I hadn't visited in probably years, and stay a little bit away. Whenever one of the biters notices me, Carl yells at it and hits its stomach with the butt of his gun. I'm unsure if he did it to protect me or the biters. Maybe both. A second too late, I notice a new biter appear behind Carl and lunge for him. Luckily for him, he notices and managed to just dodge it. He hits it with his gun and it falls to the ground, not dead, but struggling to get back up. I immediately raised my knife and drove it through the skull of the biter which had once been Mrs Johnson, the baker's wife from three houses down. She bleeds ink profusely, groans a final time then collapses backwards, her limbs a haphazard heap.

Wiping my brow, I turn back to Carl and found him struggling to get out from underneath the two other biters. He'd shot the first biter perfectly and it was now sprawled across his abdomen, however, the second biter he had shot once in the shoulder, once in the neck and a final killing blow to the head. Maggots squirmed around the open head wound. Heaving himself out from underneath the biters, the boy stands then doubles over. Vomit erupted from his mouth and laid in an odd brownish heap on the sidewalk. My stomach churned at the sight but I managed to sooth it before my stomach contents joined Carl's on the road.

"Any more clever ideas?" I asked the boy, placing one hand on my side and running the other through my hair. "Maybe next we'll go and play Russian Roulette, yeah?" Sarcasm.

Carl scowled slightly, although I could tell from his eyes that he was at least partially amused by this. I'm glad he was there, it was nice to have a kid my own age there and to simply not be alone. It was the amazing, the simple impact of people.

I broke the post-vomit silence with, "C'mon, I'll take you to the painkillers and water." I gestured to move by rutting my head. I'd never done this before but it seemed like a universal kind of thing, so I did it. Lucky for me, he understood and moved in the direction I said. Carl looked wet. He looked like a boy who'd vomited, tick; had been sweating, tick; and had cried, most likely tick, all at once. It made his hair curl and play at his ears and the nape of his neck, but he didn't seem to notice. I'm sure I was no better.

"What're you looking at?" Carl asked and I realised he'd asked me since I was still looking at his neck. Jesus. 

Trying to placate the growing red fever on the bridge of my nose, though I felt it scald me, I managed, "Haven't seen another person in so long. Especially not my own age." I let out a small, uncomfortable laugh as I felt this isn't the entire truth but felt satisfied with my own answer.

Carl seemed to understand this. "Me and my dad have been on the road for a few days, even now it's nice to see someone... someone living that is." He added the last part on with a frown.

I liked that he had responded and took this as an indication to continue the conversation as we walked to the house, which was a few streets away. "You weren't on the road before," I inferred. "Did you have a camp?"

"Kinda," I'm unsure why Carl revealed this to me or why he seemed to be undisturbed of the fact I had a knife in my hand, however, I was grateful for it. "We lived in a prison. There were probably... geez, at least fifty people there." 

My mouth involuntarily fell into an 'O' shape. "Fifty?" I exclaimed. "I've never seen fifty of anything... except biters." I grimaced. "What happened there?"

"People died." He responded flatly and I realise I've poured salt into a fresh wound.

"Shit, sorry, I-" I paused, realising I probably sounded pathetic. "I am sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theo's perspective is largely based on that of Offred from a Handmaid's Tale in that their speech is fragmented to mimic their lack of education and general distracted nature - I hope this comes across. Thanks for reading <3


End file.
